Misc Tortall
by mistrali
Summary: Various misc. Tortall ficlets.
1. Amusement

Dove adjusted the tie on Sarai's new plum overrobe, and returned her sister's conspiratorial smile with a raised eyebrow at sight of the pungent dark red lip paint Sarai produced from some pocket or other.

"Why do you care about impressing people you think are foolish?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "And how are you going to sneak that past Winna?" She curled up on Sarai's bed and began to sketch a rough outline of a kudarung.

"Never mind, you wouldn't understand: you're too young. Winna said it was fine," said Sarai airily. "Actually, she told me I could wear it as long as Chenaol or Aunt Nuritin never got wind of it," she added, brushing the colour over her lips with a fine brush probably, thought Dove sulkily, given her by a suitor.

"You always say that," protested Dove. She drew long sweeping wings on her slate. "I'm ___twelve_, not a child. You're always spending so much time with those boys, and nine times out of ten you complain about how stupid they are."

"I like the attention," snapped Sarai, as she wavered between an amethyst necklace and a white moonstone brooch. "Is that a punishable offence, now? Can't I go to parties occasionally and have a little fun without you pestering me?"

"You could come to parties with us!" cried Dove, scowling as she watched Sarai put on her gold bangles. "You never spend time with me or Elsren or Petranne; even when we go riding you canter off and daydream. People would think we weren't related, the way you don't even talk to me lately."

Sarai took a breath, and then released it. "Fine," she said shortly. "I'll cancel all my engagements, does that satisfy you? Maybe once I'm with you from sunrise to sunset you'll stop interrogating me. You're worse than ___Boulaj_, for heaven's sake." She snatched up the lip colour and stormed out of the room, calling for Boulaj to hurry and Ulasim to prepare the carriage.


	2. Rebellion

Written for MPP #10 Magic. Dove needed more fic, that's my excuse for this piece of semi-crack. Also, I really did want to touch on kudarung magic.

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ReWork Text:

**Rebellion**

The air above the Trickster's Pavilion swirled, thick with horses.

Dove closed her eyes and concentrated on Kypry's bronze body underneath her, stroking the kudarung's velvet ears and whispering the spell. Copper fire danced about the place where the luarin rebel stood; the floor of the pavilion, solid Malubesang granite, cracked a little under his feet. She saw him try to reach for his Gift and fall short.

"Kudarung magic, drawn from the earth," said Dove evenly. "We told Your Grace that those who fomented rebellion in our kingdom would be dealt with."  
He lurched as the ground splintered further, and spat, "Raka slut, thinking you're fit to be queen." Her guards' hands slid to their swords. Dove smiled grimly. She had been called worse in five years of rule.

"Two attempts in this lifetime, one each in your last two. Duke Roger of Conte, we hereby order that you be sentenced to trial for the crimes of treason, raising the dead, and using magic to create civil unrest. Those whose bodies you have enchanted will be returned to their rightful burial places, whether here or abroad, at royal expense. The rest shall be decided at the trial."

She looked at her retinue, and the gathering of nobles and commoners who had gathered to watch her verdict. The crowd now broke up, murmuring amongst themselves. As Kypry descended, Dove fingered the seal of the Isles engraved on one of her necklaces, thinking ruefully that as one trouble was put to rest, another ten would spring up. I suppose I ought to expect that, with a trickster for a patron god and crows for his servants, she thought, as Kypry landed gracefully and neatly on his knees in front of the dais.


	3. Casual

Aly/Dove, warnings for infidelity and possible dubcon.

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**Casual**

"Aly, I'm the queen, remember?" said Dove, keeping her voice and expression neutral, despite the flutter of her pulse at Aly's casual peck on the lips.

"No reason a queen can't have a little fun now and then, your majesty," drawled Aly, draping an arm about the younger woman's waist and smiling flirtatiously, almost possessively. Dove had no doubt she'd turned the full brilliance of that smile onto many a Tortallan nobleman - or woman - with great success.

"You're married, with three children under five," said Dove softly, determinedly. "Think how you will regret this later. I couldn't in all conscience kiss you, even if I did feel the same way about you as you obviously do about me."  
She could see the hurt on Aly's face - perfectly manufactured, no doubt, to set Dove's contrary heart to thumping. "Or are you just doing this to ensure my favours later on?"

"I don't give kisses if I don't mean them," Aly said. "And Nawat... well. Nawat is my affair, Your Majesty. Crow-people are beginning to wear on me just now."

The lingering heat in Aly's second kiss left Dove panting, and she returned it before she realised what was happening. Aly's agile tongue felt fluid in her mouth, running over her lips and chin. She shivered as the feeling raised goosebumps on her skin.

"Now your turn," said Aly, breathless herself.  
Dove kissed the underside of her wrist, tentatively. This was nothing, or only a little, like she'd had with Akash the evening of the ball. The business of producing heirs was routine, if precarious, and neither of them could afford to be sentimental. So, all the more reason not to give in to Aly's demands; what sort of spymaster mixed business with pleasure? They would need to have a word about that, just as soon as Dove's body stopped feeling as though it was rooted to the spot.

Aly's hand brushed her bare hip, underneath the undyed linen sarong she wore at night. She fought the urge to unwrap the sarong a little more, just to feel those warm fingers on her skin. But they moved up, across her body and towards her face: then they were playing lightly over her neck and through her hair. It was, admittedly, rather distracting; all Dove's careful resolution was threatening to float away like so much cottonseed.


	4. Change

Nestor isn't sure what he thinks of Okha becoming Amber more frequently. I wanted to explore some legitimate hesitations Nestor might have with this. I will write some follow-up ficlets where they actually talk about it.

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**Change**

Wo******Change**

"You could... you could see about being Amber at other times. If you wanted," he says, just as she steps out of the door of his lodgings in one elegant motion. He can't see her expression in the dim lamplight, and she turns her head away, making the pins in her wig glitter. Her free hand strays to her purse, and she draws out her crimson fan and glances at him from behind it.

"Do you really think so? Would you like it?" she asks cautiously.

He hesitates. Would he mind so complete a transformation? It is something else about her, along with the outfit, that changes her from Okha Soyan into Amber Orchid, and he can't touch her when she performs; she's in her element in the chaos of the Gold Barnacle, creating little worlds with her perfume, music and dance that float just beyond his workday of Rats and ledgers. He wonders if this new mot will be the same as the cove he was so taken by at the seafood markets on Peddler's Way near two months ago, if he can have the same easy talks and kisses with a mot as he does a cove.

"I'm don't rightly know. I'm just beginning to know you," he admits.

She tugs her veil about her head and nods, begins to turn away. "But we could try, is what I'm drivin' at," he says in a rush. He's still not sure if Amber will be a painted stranger to him, but he'd have to be a dolt not to notice the way she beams at him before leaving for the Barnacle.


	5. Bad Idea

**Bad Idea**

There was an ominous silence. "I told you this was a bad idea," muttered Owen.  
Wyldon looked at him. "I am sure I need not remind you that members of the opposite sex are _not__ allowed_ in the dormitories. If I find you engaging in..." he paused.  
"Late-night revelry?" suggested Neal, all innocence.

Owen couldn't believe his ears. "B-but -my lord, you're actually allowing a small midnight gathering?"

"As I said, impropriety will be severely punished," said Wyldon, glaring at them.  
"Thank you, my lord," Kel said hastily, before Neal could open his mouth again. "We'll keep that in mind."


	6. High

Beka and Pounce pre-series. For katleept's prompt at comment_fic: "any cat character(/any cat character), big, fluffy, white and glamorous."

**High**

15 April 245 H.E., Lord Provost's House, Corus

"Why not? She looks like a queen of cats," I said. I didn't really think Pounce wanted to canoodle with Trixie, being as he's a constellation and she's one of my lady's new housecats, but I like to tease him. He says he lets me because it keeps him humble. Why he should think that when he is one of the vainest creatures in Corus I've no notion, but mayhap if I could understand cats I'd be a cat myself; I wonder if even the gods have trouble. Trixie is a huge creature, with her fur all puffed up like clouds and brushed smooth each morning. My lady Teodorie cares for her pets at least, even if she treats her ladies-in-waiting and the serving gixies like pigeon scummer. I think it is a waste to feed a cat costly beef and tongue, but there, I'm no proper lady and will never be one. I love my lord's work too much, and I have not changed my mind about becoming a Dog next year. When I try to tell my lady, she will put on that drawling Unicorn District voice that makes my tripes knot and stops my tongue.

___She is white, fluffy, and talks entirely too much about ribbons,_ Pounce said calmly, curling up on my sore feet and purring loud enough to scare away a few sparrows on my windowsill. I stroked his silky black fur and full belly. Greedy creature as he is, he had an extra few ounces of liver this evening, so I can rest without him meowing and grumbling for his supper. My poor feet and shoulders ache from dragging Lady Adalia of Mindelan's sarden heavy packages all through Flash and up to Prettybone.


	7. Music

___Noon on the 26th day of June, 246 H.E._

Our mornings teach me the most surprising things about my friends; I did not know Rosto was a Piper in truth. We all goggled like cracknobs, except Aniki and Kora, when he took out a little wooden flute and played a long, sweet note.

"I'll play a love song for you, Aniki," Rosto said in a falsely deep voice. He took her hand and kissed it with such a Player's bow that Ersken giggled. "And Cooper. In case you feel slighted." He winked at me, and I will not lie, it sent a tingle down my back, though I scowled at him so he didn't suspect. He played a bit for us, some common bawdy songs and then a pretty little Scanran thing that Kora hummed along to. Then Verene joined in when he started to play a song about a sailor landing ashore to find his lady-love's run off with the blacksmith.

"Do that one about the spintry and the noble lady," suggested Aniki, clapping along with the rest of us when Rosto stopped to gobble a sausage turnover and gulp some lemon twilsey.

But he shook his head and put away his flute in its blue cloth wrap."Where'd you learn, anyway?" asked Ersken, thoughtful-like. "You don't seem the type for music, if you'll forgive me."

"Oh, I picked it up here an' there. A bit at my ma's knee and th' rest with the Scanran Rogue," said Rosto, starting on a bread roll and some cheese. "I'd tell you how I won this here flute, but Cooper'll hobble me for it, won't you, my mouse?"

"I'm not your mouse or anyone else's," I said, though Mithros only knew how I managed to look him in the face for more than the few breaths it took to say it. Rosto just grinned and stretched out next to me, with his long legs sprawled next to mine. Then he reached over and kissed me on the mouth. For the second time that day my knees felt like water. And my sarden friends sat there grinning and cackling like pigeons. Kora actually whistled. I do not think she or Aniki will mind my canoodling him, which makes me easier in my mind. I'd not be the type of mot who loses friends over a cove, never mind a rusher who might be Rogue one day.

"Traitors, the whole ducknobbed lot of you," I panted, when I got my breath back. "You too. You should've clawed him," I said to my idiot cat, who had scampered back in and was busily cleaning himself.

___My claws are too valuable to blunt on overlarge Rats_, replied Pounce, ___and you didn't seem to object this time around, either_. I think Ersken heard, because he smiled; if the others noticed my cat's backtalk, they kept quiet.


End file.
